


First Place

by mageswagger



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (spoiler: he do), Do he got the booty?, M/M, The World Will Never Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageswagger/pseuds/mageswagger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree knows that he has the best ass in Overwatch. Then Hanzo comes along and he just isn't sure anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Place

It was unanimously decided that McCree had, without a doubt, the best ass in Overwatch. If unanimously meant that Jesse spent a (probably unwise) amount of time snooping and comparing his team mates with some idle input from a few of the more mischievous members who were willing to fuel his probably unhealthy but mostly innocent investigations.

Up until he’d left Blackwatch, he and Commander Reyes had shared the title for Best Booty, which was a title that McCree took very seriously while Gabriel mostly ignored them and focused on work. Jesse thought that Gabriel secretly relished outdoing Morrison at something - even something as inane as best booty.

(McCree swears up and down that he saw Gabriel doing squats one morning to keep up his bootylicious charm, but no one else can verify this statement, and so it was shelved as nothing more than rumor and conjecture.)

Things had changed since then - McCree was older, Reyes was dead, and the people in Overwatch now were mostly those who had joined either just before McCree had left, or just after. It was a strange limbo between what he remembered and what he’d missed.

One thing hadn’t changed, however: he still took the title for Best Booty. Genji was the new honorary second, but some honorable mentions included Lucio and Tracer.

Then, Hanzo’d appeared. And McCree’s idle cataloguing of the man’s derriere was interrupted by a ridiculous amount of fabric that kept him from getting a hint of what the new competition was. After the first meeting McCree had waved Genji over, watching as Hanzo abandoned the room.

“Quick question,” he asked. Genji interrupted.

“Are you going to ask me about my brother’s ass?”

Jesse grinned. “That obvious?”

Genji, far as Jesse could tell given the killer poker face his visor provided, looked amused. “Are you worried that you will lose your place?” he asked. McCree snorted, about to answer and deny the concern entirely - when Genji continued and damned him. “Because you should be.”

McCree paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The cyborg chuckled, shook his head. “Despite how stoic he appears I can assure you that many men and women were invested in winning my brother’s heart. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, it isn’t because of his personality.” He was teasing, undoubtedly - McCree could hear it in the subtle inflections of his voice - but McCree was already lost, trying to remember how Hanzo’s pants had fit him.

“Well, shit,” he said.

After that he was a man on a mission. That mission was to find out where Hanzo fell on the ass-spectrum.

He wished that Genji could have warned him about how crafty his brother was, however. And the fucker wasn’t even  _ trying _ .

The first week or so, Hanzo was reclusive - quiet and prone to spending his time in his room or on the roof. McCree rarely saw a glimpse of him, and it made his anxiety jump. He’d held onto this title for almost twenty years - and yes, the years between his resignation and the reassembly counted - and the idea that he was about to be usurped at all was almost heartbreaking.

It was a tuesday when glimpses of Hanzo’s natural patterns began to emerge. McCree was awake around 5 am, sipping from a mug of hot chocolate (because Angela had hounded him for years about cutting back on coffee for the sake of his and her sanity) when Hanzo slipped into the kitchen and headed straight for the stove.

He wasn’t dressed in his traditional garb. For one, he was entirely shirtless, and McCree considered concocting a whole different realm of competition so he could give Hanzo the title of ‘best goddamn titties holy fuck’. His gaze lost it’s focus and he watched, mug halfway to his mouth. His back wasn’t bad either. God damn, is that what archery did to a guy? Maybe McCree should have taken that up when he had the chance.

However, Hanzo was across the room from them - between them was a small bar where they would occasionally have breakfast with whoever was awake and functioning when Morrison decided to cook (since Jack could make a mean batch of scrambled eggs that could rouse the dead). He had seen a flash of grey, so he assumed it meant that the archer was wearing sweatpants, but when he sat up to try and get a better look Hanzo had turned to face him..

“I wasn’t aware anyone else would be awake this early,” he observed. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest and nearly blinding McCree with the sheer perfection, and removed his ass out of the line of sight. God dammit.

“Woke up around 3 and couldn’t really get to sleep,” McCree said. “So I made myself some hot chocolate.”

“That sounds like it would just keep you up,” Hanzo observed with some doubt.

“Nah - puts me right to sleep, like a baby.”

The kettle began to whistle and Hanzo didn’t even have to turn to flick off the stove and remove it from the heat. He popped open the lid, tossed in a packet of tea, and set a timer for six minutes.

All this was done without moving an inch. McCree was offered nothing. He sighed and glanced down to his mug. This wasn’t supposed to be so difficult.

But true to his word the hot chocolate was beginning to kick in, and he was beginning to get drowsy. Conversation came to a halt, and McCree thought that he’d only blinked for maybe a moment before suddenly he looked up and Hanzo was gone. The only sign of his presence was the red ‘00:25’ on the oven timer.

McCree’s next attempt involved stealing Hanzo’s towel from the showers 2 weeks later. He knew it was Hanzo’s because Hanzo only ever used a very specific towel - light blue, very large, very fluffy. No one else used the towel, partially because it seemed like Hanzo very specifically hoarded this towels in his room to protect them from any wandering hands.

Was it immature? Yes. Was he obsessing? Yes. Was he going to stop?

Hell no.

He waited. He took extra long at the lockers, timing himself to match up with the schedule that Hanzo rigorously kept. By 5:45, he would be turning off the shower and stepping out to-

He had a towel. A light blue, very fluffy, very large, and definitely not-there-before towel.

McCree cursed. Hanzo raised a brow. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, tipping his hat low over his eyes as he began pulling his things from his locker. “Just peachy.”

This went on for months. McCree, in the process, learned many things about Hanzo. He learned that he always made tea at 5 am and let his tea steep for the same amount of time every time, without fail. He knew that Hanzo did not like sweet tea, and had nearly spit it out after mistakenly grabbing McCree’s glass instead of his own. Hanzo liked to walk outside, specifically at sunset or at sundown, and he liked to spend time sitting in silence with the rest of the crew. He rarely had much to contribute on his own - he seemed to just enjoy the energy of the room.

The list was longer than that, and at some point McCree’s inability to figure out whether or not Hanzo was the most bootylicious faded to an after thought. He never saw a chance to pursue the question - never saw Hanzo in anything other than his usual garb. After the first day the sweats had gone missing. It was as if he had missed his only chance.

In the distance ahead of him, Hanzo gave a heavy sigh. McCree froze from his place leaning inconspicuously behind a tree on the other side of him. “Jesse. Are you following me?”

McCree didn’t move, and said hesitantly, “No?”

Hanzo, to his surprise, laughed. He looked to the tree, and McCree knew there was no point in hiding. He stuck his head out and watched as Hanzo approached him. “When Genji said you would be persistent, I thought he was exaggerating.”

“You an’ Genji talk about me?” McCree asked. That shouldn’t have made his heart give a silly flip.

“We talk about many things,” Hanzo said vaguely. “You sometimes come up.”

McCree tipped back his hat, grinned. “Hopefully only good things?” he asked.

“He said that you were going to try and see my ass,” Hanzo said bluntly. McCree’s heart sank into his stomach as Hanzo lifted his hands and added finger quotes around the next phrase, “for science.”

McCree bashfully dragged his toe across the ground. “I mean - it’s kinda science, but, not really. It’s just a tradition, I guess. Ever since the old days we had a competition - all in good fun - but well, Shimada-san...you wear really baggy pants.”

To his complete surprise, Hanzo laughed. This might have been the first time he’d ever seen it, and it made his stomach do those odd flips all over again. 

“Have you considered that you could have simply asked me?” Hanzo asked.

McCree paused. “Well...no. I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or nothin’.”

His brow raised. “And following me around the compound and stealing my towels does not make me uncomfortable?”

Aw, shit. He’d gone and upset the guy. “I didn’t - it’s not like that, I was just -” he sighed, looked down. Now he felt like a puppy that’d gone and shit on the new hardwood. “Okay, so it probably ain’t my best idea, but I didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

The archer extended something to him. McCree blinked and looked up, frowning at what looked to be a photograph of a far younger Hanzo. “Perhaps this might answer your questions, McCree.”

The cowboy took the photo and Hanzo began to walk away before he could even begin to consider what he’d been offered. When his gaze finally lowered he realized that the picture of Hanzo was, indeed, of him in his youth. It also had him in a shirt that didn’t hang over his waist, and pants that - “You fuckin’ tease.”

The pants offered nothing but a hint of promise - the idea that Hanzo had something more hiding under the layers of fabric - but gave him nothing. Without hesitation he took off in the direction Hanzo had disappeared. 

What a fuckin’ tease.

Even as he gave chase, his heart kept doing a stupid little flip, and he was getting the feeling that he was wandering in a little too deep down the rabbit hole. But that’d never stopped McCree before, and besides. Now it wasn’t just about the ass.

Now it was about his pride.

(And also maybe getting Hanzo to laugh again).


End file.
